Mostly Professional
by grab bag
Summary: Yuletide 09 for Ancalemon. Harry/Chloe, PWP, pre- U2:AT. Harry Flynn and Chloe Frazer ostensibly meet for drinks and to discuss a certain upcoming business venture, but we all know they really just want to play headgames and then jump in the sack.


**Soft Falls Pub, 11:38pm**

"Harry Flynn, you consummate bastard."

He recognized her voice, smooth and sure, and turning around he saw her leaning against the bar with the same casual flippancy he had. She pulled his beer out of his hand and took a sip.

"Guilty as charged. You're looking sexy as ever, Chloe." He leaned in to hug her hello, and she dropped a kiss on his cheek, inhaling the rich masculine smell of his aftershave.

"Flattery will get you everything," she purred, sliding in next to him and wrapping an arm around his waist under his leather jacket as he took the beer back. "So what is it you want? You didn't ring me just for nostalgia's sake."

"What could possibly make you think that? You said if I was ever in Sydney to give you a call, and here I am." Flynn leaned in closer, dipping his head to nuzzle against Chloe's neck. She arched an eyebrow at him.

"I heard you just got hired, Harry. By a Serbian. A wealthy one who pays cash up front." Flynn pulled back, and she studied his face. "Am I just celebratory, or is there any business with the pleasure this time?"

Flynn quirked his mouth into a half-smile. "You've always been too damn smart for me. There'll be enough time to talk about business after I've sobered up. Couldn't we just flirt for a bit, huh? You can't say you haven't missed me." He brushed his hand along the inside of her elbow in the way that always sent shivers through her body. If that was how he wanted to play it, she had no problem obliging.

Chloe circled her finger along the rim of the open bottle on the bar. "If we're going to play games, let's at least do it right. You could start with buying me my own drink, sailor." Flynn took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, gently sucking the tip of her index finger as he kissed it.

"However you want it, darling."

* * *

**High Rise Hotel, 1:13am**

"_Harry!_ Is _this_ where you're staying?" Chloe followed Flynn into his hotel suite, marveling at the sumptuous décor, the furniture all dark oak and fine leather. Flynn tossed their coats over a heavy armchair, then stepped behind the paper-strewn counter that delineated the kitchen area and brought out a square bottle and two squat glasses from a cabinet above the sink.

"'Fraid so. The thing about money is that it's so much more useful when you spend it," Flynn called back to Chloe as she poked her head into the bathroom, which shone with mirrors and marble. "You still take your whiskey neat?"

"That I do." Her voice echoed on the tiled walls, and she heard the light clink of the bottle touching glass as he poured their nightcaps. Looking around the bathroom she saw Harry's toiletry bag next to the sink, several items spread across the dark counter, including his aftershave. As usual, Chloe could not help but pick up his straight razor, turning the tortoiseshell handle so it caught the light and gleamed a dappled caramel. She always wondered if it had had anything to do with the faint scar above his lip, but he did her the courtesy of never asking about her past, and she returned the favor. "You know me too well."

"I certainly hope not," Flynn said as his reflection joined hers in the bathroom mirror, holding a whiskey in each hand. Chloe watched as his image moved close to hers, then his chin ducked to meet the curve of her neck and he rested his lips against her ear. It hardly registered that what she was seeing was something corporeal until he finally whispered, low and electric, so near that she jumped a little and almost dropped the razor.

"The things that get you hot, for instance. Where would be the fun in knowing all of them?" He blew lightly into her ear, never breaking eye contact in their reflection. "There'd be nothing to search for. Nothing new to learn." Chloe's knees turned to water, but she kept her stance strong and turned around to face him, trapped between his body and the counter. She pulled a glass from him with her free hand and sipped at the whiskey, then placed it and the razor down behind her.

"Now, Harry, let's not pretend you don't prefer the payoff more." She fingered the wooden beads of his necklace, let her hand slip lower to rest flat and warm against the thin cotton of his t-shirt. "You were never one to love the chase more than the profit."

"Ouch!" Flynn winced in mock pain and clapped his hand over his heart, twining fingers with hers. "You've cut me to the quick, love, you really have." He leaned in, pushing her up against the counter as he placed his glass down next to hers. "I just like my chases to guarantee returns, no harm in that. And you've always gotten payoff, haven't you?" He emphasized by placing a hand to the small of her back and drawing her flush against him. She arched slightly, molding her breasts against the solidity of his chest, and she had to catch herself.

"So this new job with the Serbian must promise an enormous return, I expect," Chloe said, deliberately ignoring the truth of his latter comment. Flynn drew back a little, and Chloe took the opportunity to jump up and sit on the counter, shifting the glasses toward the sink. He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair.

"Yes," he admitted. "And since you're so insistent, I'll have you know I was going to ask you to join up. My employer is looking for a driver, someone experienced and good with a gun. I recommended you."

"Ah," she said, taking another swallow of whiskey. "So did he send you to offer me a job or a one-night stand?"

"Maybe both," Flynn said with a rakish grin, "but at least give me a little more credit. I gave you the full weekend in bed last time. Remember?" He nudged her knees apart and pulled her forward, and she clamped down on a shudder as he ground his hips against her. "Your body does."

Chloe did remember, every single tantalizing thing he'd done to her, and the thought was enough to make her consider ripping his clothes off right then and licking him from head to toe. But she forced a lilting tease into her voice to cover the quiver that threatened to give her away. "And of course you know all about my body." Running her hands down the muscles of his stomach, she locked her ankles together behind him. When this got no reaction, she snuck her fingers into the front pockets of his jeans and brushed against stiffness through the fabric. With a hiss Flynn shut his eyes and inhaled sharply, and she smiled.

Before she could call him on it, however, he placed a hand behind her head, pulled her ponytail so her chin tilted up, and kissed her hard. His tongue parted her mouth, and muscle memory caused her arms to wind around his back of their own accord. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, and she moaned in spite of herself. Grinning broadly, he trailed his lips down her neck, nipping at the skin.

"I know that you're hot for me," he murmured against her collarbone, and the words made her draw him closer, toes curling. "Look at you. You're wet and you're begging for it." Chloe had barely noticed Flynn unclasping her bra until he yanked her shirt off and found it had pulled free as well. He tweaked his thumb over her nipple and she gave a little jerk.

"Not yet," she whispered, seizing the hem of Flynn's shirt and dragging it upwards. He released her just long enough to raise his arms and pull it over his head; she took advantage of the moment to undo the button on his fly. By the time his shirt hit the floor, she had pushed the jeans down his lean hips, taking his boxers with them.

"Hey, now, that's not—" he started to protest, but Chloe took the length of him in her hand and he stopped short.

"— not what?" she asked him, turning her wrist around him gently as he tensed his whole body at her touch. "Not professional? Not what you want? Feels to me like you want it pretty bad."

"Not fair," he finished, his breathing heavy and ragged. He tangled one hand in her hair and placed the other at the inside of her thigh, rubbing his thumb along the seam of her khakis. "Other women wear skirts. Makes my job a lot easier."

Oh, Chloe thought to herself, he was real good, real smooth, but she knew exactly what he was trying to do. He was right of course—he could finger her to sloppy incoherency if he had the opportunity. He'd done it before. But this was a last ditch effort, one that could go either way, and she wasn't going to be the one to break first.

"'Other women,' Harry?" She untwined her legs and drew her hand slowly along his erection, savoring the subtle changes in his face as she teased him. "If that's how it's going to be, I can leave…" She mimicked him, rubbing her thumb against his slick and swollen tip, and she heard him barely more than whisper one drawn out word--

"…fuck…"

"What was that?" she asked, and he did not respond. She shrugged, then settled back on the counter and raised her hand to Flynn's naked chest, pushing him away at their only point of contact.

"Wait," he said, taking her face in his hands. "Wait a second. You've got one more chance." He tried to trace her lower lip, but she guided his hand and took his middle finger into her mouth up to the second knuckle. Sucking gently, she looked up, and saw the glaze in his eyes, and knew she had him.

"Okay, okay. I get it." Flynn finally choked out, his voice strangled and husky. "I want to fuck you." He began fumbling with the snap at the top of her khaki pants and the words poured out of him and burned in her ears. "I want to rip these stupid things out of the way and push you up against the wall and fuck you so rough I make you scream and you can't walk straight tomorrow. I've been hard for you since you came through the door and I'd be fucking you right now if I hadn't thought I could get you to squirm first. So now you've heard it, you little slut, you've won. Are you happy now that you've gotten me to beg?"

Chloe braced herself with her arms and lifted up so Flynn could slide the last of her clothes over her legs. The glasses or razor might have clattered into the sink as he pulled a condom from his toiletry bag, but she had no idea; he'd said it, and she could let go. Her heels dug into his back and her nails scratched down the width of his shoulders as he pressed hard against her. She was soaking and her hips tipped with want, and she whimpered when he paused, just barely there.

"I'm thrilled, Harry," she gasped. "Now shut up and fuck me."

The words were still fresh on her lips when he pushed in, and he groaned softly, murmuring for the second time that night, "However you want it, darling."

* * *

**High Rise Hotel, 11:21am**

"I almost had you, you know."

Chloe looked up from the cup of coffee she was pouring. Flynn was sitting on the bed, still in his boxers, morning sunlight from the windows playing over his bare chest and sleep-tousled hair.

"Yeah, okay, Harry. Sure you did."

"Be honest. You were this close to cracking." Flynn indicated with his thumb and forefinger, then lay with his head at the foot of the bed, watching her from upside down.

"And what if I was?" Chloe shifted the papers on the kitchen counter as she cleared a space for the coffee pot. "It doesn't matter. You said it first. I won. Match point."

"About that," Flynn replied. "I was thinking maybe we should change the rules a bit. Because I mean, you were about to say it. You _did_ say it. So in the sake of fairness, we really ought to make a stipulation, don't you think?"

"Sure," Chloe replied vaguely, and Flynn continued in this vein, but she didn't really hear him, giving only half answers. She'd been distracted by one of the pages she'd uncovered on the counter. It was a sheet of loose-leaf with a list of names scrawled in Harry's messy handwriting, relevant contact information down one edge of the page and corrected when necessary. She recognized them as business associates, most of them linguists, although there were a few archeology specialists as well, and a couple that had Eastern military ties. One or two names had been crossed out entirely, and although she couldn't recall the details at the moment, she knew these were the few who'd been killed in Istanbul recently. But this was not what had grabbed her attention and given it a thorough shaking.

It was the name "Nathan Drake," written halfway down the page, one of four circled in heavy red marker.

"Chloe? Did you hear what I said?" Flynn had sat up and was staring at her oddly. He looked more serious than she had ever seen him, and Chloe wondered if she'd missed something crucial.

She shook her head. "Sorry, what was it?"

"Ahm…nothing. Never mind. Not important, really."

He looked away, and Chloe studied him for a long moment over the rim of her coffee cup. He had never defaulted like that before, and she almost wanted to ask him what the matter was, but it was not in the nature of their relationship to pry, or to demand more than the other wanted to give. Not if they were going to be working together as professionals now.

She glanced down at Flynn's t-shirt that hung loose on her frame and still smelled like him, and she thought of the exhausted latex in the bathroom trashcan. And the wastepaper basket next to the bed. And the rubbish bin under the kitchen sink.

Well. Mostly professional.

She glanced down at the paper. The name jumped out at her, and she decided to satisfy herself with prying about business instead.

Subtly slipping the page underneath a stack of receipts, Chloe leaned over the counter and cradled her coffee, confident in her ability to appear casual and unruffled no matter what.

"Harry. This job I've taken. What can you tell me about it?"


End file.
